"Archform - Beauty - 02 - Flash" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"Enough. Heard that before." Yenci paused. "Captain won't like this. He won't. Lieutenant won't either."
"Do you want a facial comparison?"
"Low priorityЧonly on low-level. Office can't afford any priority."
"That will take between eight and ten weeks at current data-flow levels."
"Takes what it takes," Yenci replied. She turned and left the stasis chamber.
No response was required.
Whether the captain liked it or not, the body was thereЧdead. Life takes people where it will, not where they will. That's what Bagram Wills said more than a century ago. Analysis of history and records would indicate that it is as true now as it was then. People can control what they do and how they act, but they do not control the effects of what they do. The effects spill onward and outward, like ripples in a pond, if they're fortunate, or like the nearly unseen wave of a tsunami, if they're not. For all that, life is not a river, nor a wide ocean.
The universe is infinite and endless. Life is not, even though it cannot be described accurately in any analytical fashion. People employ comparisons or analogies or metaphors. They fail as well. They use analytical systems and logical tools. Such systems can replicate thought, and some few reach awareness, but neither the rational and aware nor the irrational and unaware can describe life. People have always searched for meaning, and all too many grasp at beliefs that will allow them to deny that life, however extended, modified, and preserved, remains most finite. "A flickering candle against the span of the universe," according to Wills.
So are systems, even the most intelligent, even those fully self-aware.

Chapter 3

I'd just come out of the fresher, clean with the feeling that you only get after a hot, hot shower following good, sweat-producing exerciseЧlike my morning run through the Boulder greenbelt. Tuesday was the day I went for speed. After the flashback I'd had, that speed helped, but the extra exertion left me panting by the time I went into the weight room, both for the weights, and for other exercises. Once I'd finished, as usual, I dressed in dark green and black, black trousers and waistcoat, with a long-sleeved, wide-collared green shirt. Cravats were back, Aliora had told me several weeks ago, offering her sisterly fashion advice, but I only wore a cravat and jacket when I met clients in person.
Before I sat down and got to work, I took a long sip of the Grey tea from the mug I'd carried into the office, then walked to the wide windows on the north side. From there, the Flatirons rose to the northwestЧ red, angled-rock cliffsЧin turn overlooking Boulder and the university. I almost could ignore the closer roofs and the trees. That view was one of the beauties of being an independent consultant. House and office were in the same place, and the location was acceptable. Truly acceptable would have been somewhere like Cedacity, also a university town, but for my work, the Denv area was a necessity. There's always some data clients refuse to send by link, and most of them want to meet in person at regular intervals. It's almost as if you're not real if they can't occasionally see you up close. Understandable enough, since anything on the worldlink can be, and has been, counterfeited.
After a last look at early September sunlight falling on the red rocks, I called up the holo projection for the Relaxo project. I tried not to think too hard about the work I didn't have after I finished the current round. Consulting's like that. No matter how good you are, you're never sure that it will continue.
Abruptly, silver flooded between me and the projection.
"Most honored sir?" The houri wore just enough, and no more, to get my involuntary attention. At a hundred and sixty centimeters, she exhibited both too much and too little. "Are you looking for theЧ"
A signal to the system commpro, and with a flash of light, the too-perfect figure vanished.
"Frigged filter!" Disruptions like that I didn't need. My office system was supposed to be proof against emwhores. But nothing was proof against anything, not these days.
I settled into the ergochair, setting down the mug, and taking in the shelves on the east wall. In addition to my collection of old-style, leather-backed books, I'd also bound some of the studies I'd done with particular meaning to me. Aliora teased me about my vanity in binding them, but electronic files just didn't carry the visual impact.
Was that because I needed a physical reminder of who I was? According to Shioban, my insecurity about who I was had been one of the many reasons she'd decided to move on. She hadn't mentioned the flashbacks, but those hadn't helped, either.
But you can't live in the past, no matter what happened.
I turned to the Relaxo sales figures on the holo projection. First, the ones on the left, then to the central column, the one that held the demographic breakdown of Hotters viewers, and then to the last two columns, one with projected Relaxo sales by demographics, compared to actual sales. As I'd suspected, there was only a normalized adjusted variance of 10 percent, just about standard for home fitness and relaxation products. I called up the next set of figures.
Reya Decostas, incoming. The commsys linked to my implant, another relic of the past that I'd kept ... and shouldn't have, not legally.
Reya would keep link-pushing until I gave in, and, if I didn't, I'd hear about it three times before she forwarded my fees. I blanked the Relaxo data. Accept.
Reya's holo image flashed up before meЧa dark-haired woman with pale skin and classical features, clad in a not-quite formfitting adaptation of a toga, fashioned of a shimmering translucent cream fabric. After almost a year, I could finally ignore that classic figure, a distraction that she loved to use to her advantageЧas I'd discovered early on, when I hadn't heard one of her conditions on a study, and it had cost me over a thousand creds.
"Reya ... what can I do for you?"
"Besides the PowerSwift results, Jonat dear? It's not what you can do for me, but for one of my ... acquaintances. You're the best of the prod-placement analysts..."
Flattery meant she was about to ask a favor I couldn't refuse or to offer a job at a rate that wouldn't cover costs. I waited.
"It's noncommerce, but they'll pay your full rate."
"Who or what? And why?"
"It's real, not flash. Nonprof outfit. The Centre for Societal Research. Your contact is Tan Uy-Smythe. Executive director. He's expecting to hear from you ... soon. You'll find the codes in my latest link." Reya smiled. "Now ... what about the correlations on PowerSwift? I know you didn't promise them until Thursday, but do you have any preliminary results?"
"So long as you recall they're preliminary." The display came up, low and to the left, so that I could see the figures as I looked at Reya's projected imageЧand at the linkcam that relayed my image back to her. I'd never bothered with synch-simmies that would let me work on something else and still theoretically project competence and interest. Perceptive clients can tell the difference. "You're still running at forty percent. That's high for discretionary home products."
Reya frowned. "We'd hoped for more, with the sublim and rez enhancement."
"Right now, except in certain demographic spots, rez can lose you as much as it gains. We don't know the causal linkages. Resonance tech is still more art than science."
"I believe you mentioned that before." The PowerSwift director's voice turned dry. "The creative types don't like hard facts."
I offered an exaggerated shrug, the kind that the linkcam would catch. A shrug was far better than any words, since no words would address her statement.
"You do know when silence is golden, Jonat. That's another thing I appreciate about you." Reya paused. "What else?"
"Your tie-ins with the Infomatic line are low, only in the ten percent range. That's unadjusted..." I went on to explain, without committing more than the facts indicated. In the end, I promised, again, to have the complete analysis to her by Thursday, and to contact Tan Uy-Smythe immediately.
Once Reya's image vanished, before I linked Uy-Smythe, I spent a moment to call up the ErrorOne results from the analysis program. I ran through the numbers quickly. With my luck, Methroy would link and want a quick read. The PPI product line director was always stuffing bandwidth ... and then forgetting and linking again.
I retrieved the access codes Reya had sent and made the link for Uy-Smythe. A simple seal appeared on the projected holo, circular, a white rose and a red one crossing over a stylized version of the restored Parthenon.
Centre for Societal Research
Jonat deVrai, for Tan Uy-Smythe.
One moment, sir.
Without further comment, the seal was replaced by a man seated in an office library, one filled with old-style leatherbound books. At least, the wall behind him showed the books. Tan Uy-Smythe was slender, almost angular, with dark brown hair, and a golden complexion. "Mr. deVrai. How far from the truth?"
"Not far at all. More like 'of the truth.'"
"Pardon my witticism. Reya Decostas recommended you as the only link-track analyst able to handle this project. So did a number of others."
"I've been fortunate to be able to meet most of Reya's expectations."
"You have to be good to have been able to meet any of them." Uy-Smythe smiled.
"She didn't offer details about the project you had in mind."